Memories
by SpaxTheTurtleClogger
Summary: A collection of short memories Alfred recalls on his journey to find the love of his high school career after her sudden departure from his world. One-shot.


_Time flies._

Natalia stared at the large window next to her seat, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. She was not, and could not, pay attention to the lecture her college professor was giving on the details of Modern literature. She didn't even care to look up when she heard Robert Frost and Saki, her mind and eyes set on the outside world. She was a freshman in college, and her life was bleak.  
It was bland.  
It was meaningless.  
She stood when the bell rang, gathering her items and heading to her dorm, the same monotonous routine she had prepared for herself since she had arrived. The girl could not think without being shut up in the room alone, and she refused to leave it, to "have fun," to "actually live for once" like everyone tried to get her to do. She didn't want to.  
_I can't do it anyways. My heart refuses._

* * *

_I wish a picture was enough these days. But I guess it just isn't enough when you're in Colorado. It shouldn't be this hard! You left without a word. I just won't suffice, will I?_

Alfred's face was solemn. The Brit in front of him only stared at him, his features unreadable as his bushy brows furrowed and he frowned. He grabbed the American and looked him over, before shaking his head.  
"You've lost weight…"  
"I know."  
"She's gone, Alfred."  
"I know."  
He stood, grabbing his bag of McDonalds and storming out of the house.

The stores were turning their lights on earlier, as the snow drifted down to the ground as the sun slowly sank too early for summer's tastes. The winter was suffocating fall's last breath into nothingness, and Alfred could feel it in his toes as he shoved his hands into his old brown bomber jacket. He remembered blonde hair that flew in the wind, and eyes that reminded him of sapphires, or maybe the ocean, or maybe everything beautiful poured into one shade of blue. She had held his hands during this time, and she had always complemented him on their warmth. Or she would sneak into his room around eleven, when his mother was asleep, and complain that it was too cold out in the shelter. Or he would find her, back against the wall of a stone building, shivering and trembling and bleeding as she spat venomous words at his shadow, needing a way to release her anger at the thugs who touched her, who robbed her, who she hurt. He groaned, letting his head fall back to look up at the clouds. Why must his thoughts always come back to her? She was a plague that was simply too cruelly sweet for him to actually want her out of his system.  
_Are you happy now?_  
His feet trudged on their own, his mind settling down. He was a hero; he was determined to save this life they had once had, no matter the price.

* * *

"So… This is my room. Make yourself comfy I guess." Alfred said awkwardly, kicking an old pair of boxers on the other side of the room when he realized they were still on his floor from the week before. The foreign girl who moved to his school two years ago looked around before dropping her bag. She walked over and sat on his bed, scowling lightly. "And you expect me to study in this mess?" Alfred wasn't sure how to respond, as it was assigned for them to work on their project together; she refused to do it at her house, so he offered his. And she was complaining. He sighed, standing up and grabbing their bags, leading them back down the stairs. As he trudged down, he heard his mother call from the kitchen.  
"Too dirty?"  
"Shut up mom."  
He sat down on the couch and shrugged the bookbags onto the floor, giving her room to sit next to him. She stood, though, staring at the seat until finally rolling her eyes and taking it. Alfred didn't complain, though, because this girl had been the object of his affection since the school year began; he had never seen a more attractive girl! She didn't seem interested, though, which made him a little disappointed

But determination could get a hero a long way.

* * *

Alfred's eyes slowly opened, the snow falling on his chest. He looked around the dark room, before reaching over and clumsily grabbing his glasses. He sat them on the bridge of his nose, and the snow he had felt was not snow at all; it was the frozen hair of a Belarusian girl, her bottom sitting soundly on his window sill. She should have been freezing, the blue dress she preferred over any other clothes clinging to her thighs as the sleeves were downed in snowflakes. She didn't look away from him at all; he couldn't tear away from looking at her. She turned, swinging her legs over the edge of the window and into the room- Alfred noted her feet were pale and bare and small- and she lowered herself to the bed. He suddenly felt his heart racing, every inch closer she got to him, he wanted to crawl back, but his body was set in stone. She sat on her knees, her fingers curling into the cloth of the dress as she stared him down, almost shyly, before pressing her lips against him fiercely; Alfred's entire room seemed to light up through this one kiss that burned like fire was slipping down his throat, onto his tongue- he figured it was just the frozen saliva and tongue of the girl devouring him. As he shifted and moved around, he could feel the flesh of her hand, or her leg, or her arm brush against his own, and chills were shooting through him from the temperature differences. He pulled away from her, causing her to scoot away from him. His voice was cracked; it was hoarse and underused, he could not bring himself to question these actions when her dress came over her head, the cloth shuffling against her arms and her hair falling like water when it was off. Alfred could not speak, he could not think, but he moved.

She was still cold, like she was made of ice or snow or rain. It didn't bother him at all, for he was like her fire. She on the bed, half-dressed but too lazy to finish the job. She looked over at him, sitting in his chair with his feet up on his desk as I twiddled his thumbs. He had been yelled at for taking pictures of her when she was dressing, or when she was sleeping, or when she was yelling at him. He looked up.  
"Ya ciabie liubliu." He stared, seeing the flushed flesh of her cheeks, seeing her almost painfully frustrated eyes focused so diligently on him. He only offered his smile in response to her.

* * *

Natalia was still screaming, even when he told her it was only morphine. The doctor's strapped her arms and legs down to the bed with belts which only made her voice sharpen and raise two octaves before she finally began to calm from the drugs. Her lips trembled and her eyes lowered. When she tried to thrash about, all she could do was raise her back before thumping back down. She rustled her legs and ruined the blankets that covered her- Alfred fixed them, only for her to ruin them again. He sighed before giving up, realizing it was pointless to fight against her. She hummed, her eyes shut tightly and her fingers drumming on the sheets. Alfred noticed the bruising already forming on her arm and throat, and cringed at the thought. He sighed.  
"Natalia?"  
"Dy. Alfred?"  
"Honestly… What were you doing all alone at this time of night? You're injured so badly. And you didn't try to call me! I could have come and saved you, I'm a hero and-"  
"It's different in my world than yours." She mumbled, her eyes staring at the ceiling. Alfred didn't understand at all; how was it all different for her? He was the star of the football team- he could handle anything! But the girl did not hesitate to explain even further.  
"I live in a homeless shelter with my sestra and Vanya. We're poor and helpless. Going on the streets and stealing and fighting is just something you become accustomed to when you've lived in Hell." She stopped, her face suddenly falling from one of morphine-induced smiles to pain. She turned her head, the rustling of the sheets catching the American's attention. "So when I come stay with you, it's the little chance I get to be safe."

* * *

Alfred's eyes fluttered open, the clear blue orbs looking around drowsily before he remembered what he was doing and where he was; Denver, Colorado. The boy stood and stretched his arms over his head, ignoring the pretty hostess who was trying to flirt with him. He stepped into the terminal of the airport and looked around for a phone, and frowned when he couldn't find one at all. He sighed; it seemed walking was the only way he was going to get to his destination. He looked around the city, the tall buildings and bustling traffic reminding him of his home- their home- for a moment. He shook off the thought. The college was huge, it impressed him more than he thought it would have, with the well-made pillars of marble and the freshly cut grass. He looked around, absolutely lost in the grandeur. His cerulean eyes flicked forward and he saw something; his breath caught, his palms broke out in a sweat, and his feet began to fly over the green blades. She was still so fast when she walked. It was difficult to keep up, but her hair had grown so long over the amount of time she'd been gone. Her smell would lure him, the familiar sound of her constantly cursing in her language. Those were enough to let him know he was close; far away, but closer than ever before. The slam of her door alerted him. He snapped form his daydreams, seeing exactly where she had gone, the name "Arlovskaya" written on the whiteboard. He took a breath.  
_Just one more night.  
_His knuckles rapped against the wooden door in an unsteady beat, each one hitting at a different moment in time that was loud enough to be noticeable to the music despising American blond. He could feel the awkwardness in the air, he could feel the eyes on his back as girls were peeking at him from their dorm rooms and peep holes. He groaned internally, wondering if she was going to answer after looking through her own-  
The locks came undone and the door snapped open, nearly slapping him in the face. The violet-blue orbs weren't even on him yet before they were in a glare he had come to be so familiar with; like a homely welcome behind a Halloween mask. "Privet, now what do you want from me-" She began, before her words faded slowly into a nothingness that Alfred couldn't explain. The girls exited their dorms.  
"Alfred, what are you doing here?"  
That voice, it made him crumble into a pile of stone. He was no more than a dog in her hands, and she knew it. Why did she leave so abruptly? The hurt on his face must have meant something to her, because it was mimicked in her. It was alive, it was a growing image, a growing thing that was swallowing them in its entirety as if they were feeble, helpless, thoughtless nothing.  
"I can't take it anymore. It's always here." She pointed to her heart, the usual ruffles she always wore on her blouses shifting ever so slightly from the sharpened nail. Alfred did not need to speak.  
He pressed his lips to her, his arms wrapping around her waist- has she been eating at all?- and he engulfed her in his brown bomber jacket, the females watching in awe.  
"Never leave me like that again." He whispered, his voice cracking in the fear of losing this child again. What had he done to deserve her in her absence? Where was his college diploma, why wasn't he taking the full ride scholarships to Notre Dame?  
"Never again." She whispered, pressing her forehead against his, her finger hooking into his in a promise that would never need to be questioned again.  
There were too many witnesses.  
He couldn't help but smile again.


End file.
